“So let my hands and my face make their way in this world, let my hungry eyes see, my tongue taste.”

“But I must pay attention now, she thinks, because what other choice is there? Maybe when I die my soul will fly to meet God, but when that time comes I won't have the use of clever hands, nor the burden of an ugly face; hands and face will be planted like bulbs in the soil, while only the bloom of the spirit emerges elsewhere. So let my hands and my face make their way in the world, let my hungry eyes see, my tongue taste.”

“O beautiful, to make escapeAnd leave this world behind.Had I to stay another dayI'd lose my fucking mind...”

“I take all the credit in the world for my own foolishness.”

“...What is the use of beauty? i have lived my life surrounded by painters, and still I do not know the answer. But i suspect, some days, that beauty helps protect the spirit of mankind, swaddle it and succor it, so that we might survive. Beauty is no end in itself, but if it makes or lives less miserable so that we might be more kind-well, then, lets have beauty, painted on our porcelain, hanging on our walls, ringing through our stories.”

“Please, I know nothing of the world, except my father is lost in it.”

“I am a woman who slept with my father the Pope.They say I did, at least, and so does he.And who am I to make of the Pope a liar,And who is he to make a liar of me?”